The Reflex
by LadySwish17
Summary: As good as Dean's reflex is, sometimes even it has an off night.


It was the reflex. The one that made Dean react instead of think things out like Sam would. It was the thing that made him want to shoot first, ask questions later. It was, he thought, the thing that kept him alive and kept his head in the game at all times.

Okay, maybe _at all times_ was a bit of an exaggeration. Sure, there were times he got a little wrapped up in other things, especially when there was a pretty girl involved, but his reflex always kicked in at the right moment when he and Sam really needed it. Maybe that's why he had been so surprised when he had found himself handcuffed to a bed, a snarling she-demon staring him in the face. There had been nothing that set off his internal alarm, nothing that made him nervous in the slightest.

No, he took that back. Something _had_ made him question why he was with her. Her bedroom. Her pink bedroom. Looked like someone had drank bottle after bottle of Pepto Bismol and vomited all over everything. The walls, the carpet, the bedspread…everything was pink. It made Dean sick to his stomach just to be in there. He made a mental note to never drink Pepto Bismol again.

"Like it?" She flashed this overly huge grin at him. "I designed it all myself."

"No kidding," Dean flashed his grin back, inwardly fighting back nausea. "It's great," he lied. If he hadn't been there for sex, he would have walked out right then. But no. There was an itch that screamed to be scratched.

He hadn't thought his lie had sounded all that truthful, but apparently it had been what she wanted to hear. Her grin broke out into an all-out smile, which Dean knew he couldn't match, so he averted her eyes by checking out the rest of her room. There wasn't much there that could drown out the pink of the walls, so Dean took off his jacket, trying to appear as casual as possible. "So wh-" She grabbed him by his shoulders and planted her mouth onto his, cutting him off.

She took his jacket from his hand and flung it across the room. Dean's mind raced. Maybe she wasn't a true mental case after all…

He didn't object when she slipped his shirt above his head, flinging it randomly before she turned her attention to his belt buckle. He hadn't even gotten to her clothes yet and she was stripping him bare. He made another mental note, this time reminding himself to keep her number on his cell.

She pushed him onto the bed, smothering his torso with kisses, his aroused nipples with her tongue. A moan almost escaped his lips as she went further south, kissing his waistline as her hands roamed freely over his chest. He was _definitely_ keeping her number.

Next thing he knew, Dean was in his boxers being handcuffed to the headboard. She was straddling his hips, not a single article of her clothing taken off. Dean had to admit he found this entire thing sexy as hell. Here he was. Mister Take Charge. Mister Kick Ass And Take Names Later. Being dominated like a bitch by a girl who slept in a ocean of pink. And he was loving it. When she grinded on the hardened bulge impatiently waiting to be set free, he groaned and pulled at the handcuffs, the metal feeling cold against his hot skin.

"Like that?" She purred into his ear, giving his nipple a slight tug.

Dean fought against melting completely, releasing a shuddering sigh instead. He was under her power and she knew it. She bit his lower lip, tugging it gently before planting her full mouth on his, her tongue wrapping itself around his.

She sat up, arching her back as she rocked her hips against his, moaning while she moved. "Oh Dean…" she purred. "Do you want me?"

Dean tugged at his restraints again, taking in the sight of this fully clothed, pink loving goddess. He tried to think of some way to tell her yes without sounding like he was begging for it. If there was one thing Dean Winchester would never do, it was beg for sex.

"Do you want me, Dean?" She asked again, her fingers lightly brushing against his nipples. "Tell me you want me."

Dean groaned again, the pressure in his hips begging for her before the words formed in his mouth. "Yeah, sure," he said, noticing his voice came out a little higher than he wanted it to. "I want you."

She threw her head back and when a growl came out instead of a passion-filled moan, it was then Dean's reflex kicked in. But it wasn't like he could do anything about it. His hands were cuffed to her bed. "Oh sh-"

He couldn't do a thing as he watched her nails grow into long, blackened talons. When she looked down at him, she flashed her overly huge grin again, only this time her teeth were pointed, sharp. Her green eyes had been flooded with a black hue, which spooked Dean out more than anything. They seemed to be staring directly through him, looking at something he didn't want exposed by their kind.

Dean tried to weigh his options. Wait, what options? He was in a nauseatingly pink room, lying partially naked on a bed, _handcuffed_ to said bed, with a she-demon straddling his aching genitals. All Dean could do was thank whatever benevolent deity was looking over him that his younger brother wasn't there to see him. If the demon didn't kill him, trying to live this incident down would. And he knew Sam would never let this go. Being a Winchester meant he was that much of a stubborn bastard.

He tried not to wince when she ran her talons over his chest, scratching him deep enough to draw blood.

"I am going to eat your heart, Dean." Her voice rasped like paper being crumpled up. She traced a line down his chest, her eyes flashing glee with the mention of 'eating' and 'his heart'.

Dean pulled at his restraints, wanting nothing more than to take his knife and finish her, or he started referring to her, 'The Bitch' off.

As she leaned over to his ear, he shuddered at the feel of her breath that, a few moments ago, he had loved on his skin. "I'm going to finish you off and then who knows? Maybe your brother will enjoy my company before I rip his heart out." She laughed when Dean strained to get at her. She had hit a nerve and she knew it. All the better to get his heart pumping before…BOOM!

The door flew off the hinges and in stormed Sam, sawed-off shotgun in hand aimed directly at The Bitch. She snarled as she leapt off the bed and onto the floor, half crouching, wanting to defend her food source.

Sam circled her, needing to get a clear line of vision so he wouldn't hit Dean.

She slashed the air, following Sam's every movement. When she saw he wasn't being scared off, she leapt towards him, her talons aimed right for his face.

BANG!

Sam let off a round, hitting The Bitch in the chest and sent her flying backwards before collapsing on top of the nightstand beside the bed, toppling it. Stepping a little closer, he fired two more rounds into her body. He nudged her with the barrel of the gun. She lie still. The silver pellets had done their job. Ding, dong. The Bitch was dead.

Dean looked around for a key for the cuffs, praying his brother wouldn't say anything about his appearance. What made matters worse was that he was still aroused, his boxers hiding nothing. All he could do was pray…

Finding no key, Sam spotted a hairpin on a dresser. He placed the gun on the bed while he worked on freeing his brother, biting his lower lip in a desperate attempt not to laugh. Click. One cuff unlocked, one to go…

Dean quietly slipped his shirt on, keeping his gaze to the floor. It hadn't been enough that he had almost been The Bitch's supper, but to have Sam find him cuffed to a bed in a state of arousal because of said Bitch…Dean knew he would never live this down. When he did look at Sam, he could see the smirk just itching to come out. He had to admit Sam had great self-control. Dean would have laughed long ago.

The job wrapping the body in the putrid pink bedspread took longer than necessary when the dam holding back Sam's laughter broke when a chuckle escaped. So much for his great self-control.

As they dropped the body in the Impala's trunk for later disposal, Dean didn't ask any questions like how Sam had gotten to The Bitch's house or how he even knew she was a Bitch. Questions would only beget more questions, ones that Dean wasn't ready and wouldn't ever be ready to deal with. For now, he was content to stay silent.

Sighing, Dean turned the ignition and welcomed the soothing sounds of his Metallica tape soar from the speakers. A few bars in, he thought he heard a snicker from the passenger seat. Yep, Dean was going to stay silent…and work on his reflexes.

The End.


End file.
